


The Good Doctor

by Snarkyowl



Category: Markiplier Egos, youtube - Fandom
Genre: M/M, More characters eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-03 19:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11539218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarkyowl/pseuds/Snarkyowl
Summary: Being rewritten, pardon the confusion.





	1. A wandering mind

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so if you're reading this I want to go ahead and apologize for my poor writing skills. I'm hoping that one day I'll get better, but until then this is all I've got.

Time passed quickly for the doctor some days, and other days he felt as though time dragged on as slowly as possible just to spite him. Many days he remained lost in his own thought, but there were always days he had to be completely in the present without being distracted in any kind of way.

He’s wrapped up in filling out papers when the door opens. He blinks, turning in his chair to look at the time. He promptly curses, lifting himself from his seat and hurrying out into the main area of the clinic.

Host waits patiently for him, hands folded neatly over the cane he’s taken to using. Doctor Iplier clears his throat, smiling despite knowing well and good Host won’t know nor care that he is.

“Host, sorry to keep you waiting.” He says in a rush, tapping his foot once before heading off.

The Host follows after him without saying a word, an odd expression resting on his face. The Doctor doesn’t have the mindset or time to consider expressions, though.

“Has everything been holding up well, Host?” He asks as Host settles carefully on his usual perch.

The Host hums thoughtfully before giving a careful nod of his head.

“The Host has not experienced any complications since last seeing the doctor.” The man says, and Doc breathes out a relieved sigh.

“Good. That’s good.” He mutters, moving to cut off the dirtied bandages.  
Host winces as one bit of the bandaging sticks to sensitive skin, but Doc is quick to dab it with a soothing liquid.

“The Host was curious as to when Doctor Iplier planned to next visit him?” Host asks softly, and Edward blinks.

“Oh. I’ve um. I’ve been a little busy lately I’m-”

“The Host is aware of the doctor’s occupied state, and is quick to assure the doctor there is no need for apologies.” The author cuts in and Doc smiles a bit.

“Alright, well I still am sorry. I’ll try and visit within the next few days for lunch, how’s that sound?” He asks softly, and Host smiles lightly.

“The Host would very much like that.”

The doctor finds himself blushing like an idiot as he finishes up with Host’s treatment, escorting his friend out of the clinic with a final assurance he will be by for lunch soon. Host promises to hold him to it, and with that the man is gone.

\--

As soon as he’s left to his own devices again, the doctor’s mind does what it loves to do and takes a spiral down a dark path. His mind seems to take a turn for the worst more often than it doesn’t, and he has to wonder if that’s by fault of the fans or of Mark.

One of the biggest things Doc worries over is if the others… like him, to put it simply. He knows that without the fans he would be long since dead, but it’s with a bitter laugh he recalls he almost did die even with the fans around.

They had been willing to forget about him, and even now he was pushed to the background more often than not. What was he to them? A sidekick? A pushover?

His reputation among the other egos was questionable seeing as many of them never even saw him unless they were injured and had to come see him. For a long time it had never really bothered him that no one came to visit purely to visit him, but eventually loneliness tugged at his heartstrings and he had to wonder if any of the others cared about him.

Dark had always been quick to show a certain distaste for Doc, if only because he was a weaker ego with a lack of anything to contribute. Warfstache had taken to Doc alright, even allowed him to star in his project idea, but that still raised the question of why. Why did Warfstache do that? Why him, and not the two egos Wilford chose to be his right hand men?

One ego that always left Doc feeling emotionally confused was the Host, and before that the Author.

Author had once viewed Doc very similarly to the way Dark did. A weakling not useful for much, good only for healing. Author had been a dick to put it shortly, and Doc had still fallen for him. The ambition in his eyes, the confidence with which he moved, the way he could capture an entire room with only a few words. He was incredible, and how could Doc not love something like that? Then the man had come to the clinic with scarred eye sockets and a blood everywhere, had quietly explained his eyes had “been in the way.”

The Author took out his own eyes and became the Host.

If the Author had confused Doc, Host confused him even more. The man was in many ways still the Author, but he seemed much more docile. He was still arrogant and cruel to a degree, still very much wrapped up in his own goals, but there was a sense of control there that hadn’t been there before. Whereas the Author had been passionate and a bit impulsive, Host was quietly controlling. Better at pulling strings in the dark.

Host wasn’t cruel to the doctor, but he certainly wasn’t very kind either. He was agitated when Doc would drop things because his hands were faded, didn’t understand why Doc was so tired (because he was fading), tended to come off as a bit controlling. Still, Doc couldn’t deny there was something more to the Host that drew him in that went against every voice in his head that said loving Host was a horrible idea.

Then Host invited him to have tea in the library, and Doc knew he was fucked.

They’re odd friends currently. Host still isn’t the best at interaction that doesn’t involve him narrating and controlling what the person is doing, but Doc knows he means well.

Host makes Doc feel like he has a friend, but does he really? Does Host really care? Doc doesn’t know, but oh he hopes.

Hope is all he can do.

Leaning back in his chair with a creak from the furniture, he looks at the clock with a weary sigh. Just a few more hours of work, he can do this.

Only a half hour later and the doctor is asleep, bent awkwardly over his paperwork. His nurses wrap him in a blanket and shut off the lights, proceeding through the rest of the work shift with quiet caution.

When he wakes there will be more for him to deal with, but at least for the time being he can enjoy a good night’s rest.


	2. Darkiplier's Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkiplier, of course, has to stick his nose into this. It's messing up his plans.

He was a man, a creature, of very few regrets. The regrets he did carry were usually centered around events, happenings, more important than this. This was absurd, infuriating. He had a schedule, very strict, that he liked to stick to and that schedule was being broken apart with a sledgehammer.

It was maddening.

What was it being broken apart for? For love! Who was doing the breaking? Host. Of course it would be Host that would dare to go against Dark. Of course Host would take his schedule, drop it onto the floor, and spit on it. Host and Dark were evenly matched to a degree, and if they weren’t they both knew Host was really the more powerful one here.

They were supposed to be working together, not working as two awkward halves of what should have been a more unified body. Instead, Dark noticed that with Host’s distraction, the others were taking certain liberties. Host was better with them, they trusted him. Dark they didn’t trust for a second.

Except, of course, for Wilford fucking Warfstache. He was a different case altogether, though. He trusted Dark, but annoyingly enough he disrespected and put him down at every turn. Dark would rip him apart if he wasn’t so valuable to them, their cause. And, Dark would admit only to himself, he was valuable to Dark.

Straying from thought again, are we? Dark’s aura taunted, and he shut his eyes tightly against the onslaught of mocking laughter and jeers.

He didn’t need this.

Standing from his desk with the sharp scraping of his chair, Dark decided that in order to get Host back to working properly he needed to stop whatever was going on between him and the doctor.

He needed his right hand man back and ready to work, no matter who needed to be sacrificed along the way. The doctor was in the way of that.

\----

“Dr. Iplier.” Dark’s greeting catches him off guard, interrupts his sleep-deprived mind from a lost train of thought.

He jerks up, heart racing from the scare of someone appearing so suddenly in his office alone. That rate picks up when he processes just who has appeared in his office.

“Dark.” He breathes, because what else can he do?

Dark observes him for a long moment, too long, and Doc gets the distinct impression he’s little more than a piece of meat that Dark is waiting to consume.

“I was wondering if I could speak with you about something… personal.” Dark says it slowly, almost hesitantly.

Doc’s first mistake is believing that this is about Dark and his multitude of problems. Doc wants to help everyone he can, and that’s his fatal flaw.

“Of course. I don’t have any appointments until later today-”  
“I don’t care about that, doctor.”  
“Right- sorry.” Doc mutters, ducking his head to avoid seeing the sneer he knows Dark will send his way.

Why does he deal with this again? Ah, yes, because the threat of fading is still too close for comfort.

“I’ve been noticing something as of late, and it’s been causing me some problems.” Dark says, and of course it’s cryptic.

What is Doc supposed to draw from that?

“Mind if I ask what you’ve been noticing?” Doc leans forward as he asks, curious despite what the results may be.

Dark smirks, and that’s bad sign number one. Bad sign number two is he settles back in the chair he settled into at some point, and folds his hands in his lap.

He looks smug, and that’s dangerous.

“You seem oddly fascinated with the Host.” Ice floods Doctor Iplier’s veins as he tries to think of something to say to combat this.

His brain draws a blank.

Dark smirks still, eyes glinting maliciously in the dim lighting of the office.

“Before that it was the Author, despite how he tended to treat you. He called himself the Host, his personality shifted. Then he carved out his eyes.” Dark murmurs, bringing his hands up to rest on his chin as he leans forward.

“Want to tell me what that is about?”

The doctor, terrified and unable to speak, merely shakes his head mutely and hopes the man is satisfied.

But this is Darkiplier, of course he isn’t satisfied.

“I don’t want you falling in love with him and ruining everything,” he warns lowly, “and I certainly don’t want him unable to work because he’s been so wrapped up in you.”

“I-”  
“Ah ah ah- don’t speak, doctor. You had your chance for words, now you’re going to listen to me.” Doc’s mouth shuts with an audible click, and Dark seems semi-satisfied with the obedience.

“So far, productivity has seen a sharp drop. Why? Because Host has been otherwise occupied with you, leaving him unable to get most of the work I have assigned to him done. This wouldn’t be an issue if-”  
“If what? If you interacted with these others? We both know damn well you could easily keep them in check if you’d just-”

“Silence!” Dark snarls, standing as his aura lunges forward.

It pounds in Dr. Iplier’s ears, and he feels pinpricks of horror creep up his body as he watches the aura begin to steal color from him.

“You insolent, pathetic, miserable little whelp!” Dark’s voice echoes and booms in the small space, and it was all Edward could do to not break down then and there.

If he showed Dark that much weakness, he held no doubt he would be killed on the spot.

“Take a tone with me like that again, doctor, and I will not hesitate to remind you of your standing in this building.” Dark hisses, aura still strangling the life out of the room by force.

Doc takes a breath before nodding wordlessly. Best to appease the demon rather than provoke him further, after all, he still hasn’t drawn back his aura.

“You know he doesn’t really love you, more than likely.” Dark notes, suddenly all calm as he boredly looks over his nails.

“Wh-What?”  
“You really think he just suddenly decided you weren’t sad and pathetic?” Dark snorts, shaking his head and dropping his hand into his lap.

“That isn’t how that works, and we both know that. Why would he bother with you?” Dark presses, and Doc takes a breath.

Why would Host bother getting to know him?

“To piss you off?” Doc murmurs hesitantly, and Dark grimaces.

“That does seem an awful lot like him, doesn’t it?” Doc can only nod along with what Dark is saying.

Logically, Dark is probably only trying to manipulate him. Then again, he raises a point.

Damn him. Damn him to hell.

“Ah, look at the time. I have to run doctor, but do keep this in your mind.” Dark says, reaching out and patting Doc’s shoulder in a damn near friendly manner.

Fuck you.

“I will.” Doc whispers instead, shutting his eyes tightly as Dark vanishes.

When he opens his eyes and looks down at himself, he has to wonder.

Is he black and white because of Dark’s aura, or has life always been this way?


	3. Meeting the good doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look back in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another trashy chapter. The next chapter is gonna be another look into the past, so heads up there. Constructive criticism is always welcome! If formatting is the problem though, I've been having a rough time with that so if the formatting looks ugly just know I've probably tried and failed to make it better. After this I'm gonna work on longer chapters ;;

The doctor, now alone, had time to think about his life. As one of the least well known, and by default least powerful, egos he often felt... Inadequate in the face of the others. Dark and Wilford were the most well known and most powerful, and that didn't bother Dr. Iplier too much. No, what bothered the good doctor was that even the King of the Squirrels had more power than the doctor did. While control over his "squirrely subjects" wasn't exactly a power, it was certainly more useful than whatever the doctor could do. Some would say he could heal, but he would be the first to discount that. He could, in all technicality, but as a doctor that was his job. Otherwise, he was useless. He had one use to the others, to Dark. He was a safety measure.

A long time ago, he recalled, he hadn't just been a simple healer. He'd felt like more, felt like he could be more. While he was capable on all fronts of many things, when he was younger and cockier he believed he could have healed anyone. Then along came the other egos to rain in on the doctor's parade.

"... You're like... Me?" The doctor questioned awkwardly as he stared at the group now occupying his office. One was a grey-scaled man dressed rather simply in something the doc felt their host might wear. The one that had Dr. Iplier most on edge was the man with the pink mustache, Wilford he'd said, in his odd outfit choice of a pale yellow shirt and pink suspenders. Finally, the third, was a man dressed in flannel and jeans. Which was normal, and he could (like the doctor himself) be mistaken for Mark was it not for the... Look in his eyes. Not quite predatory, not friendly either.

"You're like us, in a way, yes." Darkiplier drawled, watching the doctor with a quiet disinterest that set Dr. Iplier's nerves ablaze.  
"Why are you here?" The doctor questioned, and he tried to keep the hostility out of his voice.  
"We want to offer you... A place among us." Dark started, and then paused there to see what the doctor had to say on that.

A place among them? What was this, a cult? Dr. Iplier shook his head lightly, but looked back to Dark. Dark was nothing more than a fan creation, and yet the doctor could feel how much more powerful he was. That wasn’t even the beginning of fair. This figment didn’t even have a video properly put to his name and yet the fans liked the idea of an evil Markiplier so much he was here and more powerful than the others who had videos to their name. Infuriating. 

“That’s… Nice of you but I don’t think-”  
“Being alone, as you are, is a dangerous idea.” Dark drawled, effectively cutting him off and pissing him off all at once.  
“Maybe I’m willing to take that chance.” He bit out hotly, glaring at Dark and then glancing to- what was it? The Author?  
“He lives alone, doesn’t he?” Dr. Iplier knew his tone sounded a bit too accusing but he was frustrated, damnit!  
“I do, but unlike you I’m strong enough to handle that.” Author sneered, and oh wasn’t that wonderful. Three egotistical pricks here to invite him to live with them. Fat chance.

The doctor didn’t get to say as much because suddenly Author and Wilford were gone. Now it was just the doctor and Dark. The chill that filled the room as what the doc could only assume was Dark’s aura spread its tendrils throughout the small space made Dr. Iplier feel sick. Nervously, he shifted away from the darker ego who was regarding him with iced over eyes. 

“You’re making a mistake, doctor, by choosing to live without us. If you wait you will fade, I can assure you of that much.” He murmured, his voice was calm and almost soothing. If he had been anyone else, maybe doc would have considered what he was saying.  
“No. I don’t need to be looked after like some-”  
“I can offer you something, then.”

Curse his selfishness. The offer of something useful to the doctor immediately had him expressing interest, and he hated how obvious he was. Dark seemed amused by it, regarding the doctor in thoughtful silence. 

“Offer me what?”  
“Anything you want.” Dark purred it out, and the doctor shivered.  
“I want to be…”  
“Stronger?”  
“Yes.”  
“Ambitious. For that power, and for the ability to stay unfaded, you will offer us your medical assistance should we ever need it.” Dark informed, and doc felt himself nodding mindlessly along.

“It seems we have a deal then.”


End file.
